It’s the way he eats me. The only way that I can describe it is by making the comparison to that food that you’d lie, cheat or steal for. The kind you hide behind a roll of stamps in your desk, or behind bags of frozen vegetables in the freezer. You know, the kind you will eat first thing in the morning in a dark corner of the garage like a crackhead or drive any distance and by yourself because you don’t want to share, all while the needle of your fuel indicator is buried in the red, but can wait even though you’d just passed three stations on your way. I’m running this into the ground here, but that food you will dig out from your bra like it’s a nugget of gold after even the smallest of morsels escapes your greedy mouth and burrows between your boobs for safety. Well you get the point; that is him, and I’m not even sure that I need to be here for it. Of course I’m kidding because I know what it is about eating me that really turns him on. Man, there is no better of a goal in my life...